


Scars

by TheIncorrectAvengers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Artist Steve Rogers, Avengers Compound, Avengers Family, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Domestic Avengers, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Bucky Barnes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Murder, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Physical Abuse, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prosthesis, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Scars, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Torture, Verbal Abuse, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28397532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIncorrectAvengers/pseuds/TheIncorrectAvengers
Summary: He calls them his "scars". Every memory of his past, every reminder and thought that has to do with Hydra he calls his "scars". He knows he shouldn't. He knows associating everything that happened with the physical injuries left permanently on his chest can't lead to anything good, but he can't help it. Everything that happened permanently scarred his mind. His past is an injury that'll never fully heal over, just like the scars on his chest. That's why he calls it his "scars".Unfortunately, his 'scars' have been getting worse. His nightmares making him terrified to fall asleep and trying to keep it all from Steve is only making things worse for himself and the relationship. He doesn't want Steve to feel like he wasn't enough, that what happened was his fault because he knows Steve already blames himself.I know the summary is absolutely terrible, but I promise that the story is a lot better. So if you want an excruciatingly painful amount of angst, this is the fic you're looking for. I will make sure to throw in some fluff because writing this fic is making me hurt.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Kudos: 9





	Scars

Waking up. That’s my favourite moment.   
Why?   
Bliss.   
Those few seconds when I wake up, I don’t remember who I am, where I am, I just wake up and the world is calm, still, and silent. My heart isn’t pounding, my ears aren’t ringing, my throat isn’t hoarse, my guts aren’t churning, my mind isn’t screaming.   
Bliss.   
Sometimes I will wake up and my heart is pounding, my ears are ringing, my throat is hoarse, my guts are violently churning, my mind is screaming and all I can do is scramble to stand up and rush to the bathroom as my eyes burn with tears and I puke my guts out until my stomach is empty. But even those moments are bliss because I still don’t remember for a few seconds. Of course, I’m still in pure agony, confused and terrified, but it’s nothing compared to when I wake up from a nightmare and I still remember. I have to go through the violent pain while a vivid film of my memories flashes before my eyes. Not the good memories, the bad ones. The ones of my scars.   
I associate the bad with my scars.   
I know I shouldn’t. I know that the memories are just that, memories. And I know that I should separate them from physical things, but it’s hard to. I’ll sit on the cold tile floor with my head tucked between my legs, breathing hard as I wait for my head to stop pounding and my ears to stop ringing and just for everything to stop. I’ll sit there and when I know I can, I’ll stand up, take a few shaky breaths and I’ll walk to the counter. I’ll keep my eyes down, I’ll grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth, gargle with mouthwash, then I’ll go to wash my face and in the split second I reach my arm out to grab the face towel, I’ll catch my reflection in the mirror. My breath will catch in my throat and I’ll stare at the scars violently raked across my chest, coming to a stop when the metal prosthesis starts and hides the rest.   
That’s when my head will get dizzy and I’ll start to lose my balance but I’ll catch it a second before I fall over. I’ll pry my eyes away and reach for the towel again, purposefully keeping my head down so I don’t catch sight of myself in the mirror again. Once my face is dried, I’ll walk back to bed and crawl in next to Steve. I’ll press my back to his chest and rest my hand over his heart, listening for the sound of his lungs inhaling and exhaling and keeping count of his heartbeats to make sure he’s okay.  
It’s been a habit since we were kids. I’ll never let him know that when he spent the night I didn’t get a blink of sleep, I was too scared. Terrified he’d stop breathing in the dead of night and I’d be sound asleep as he suffocated and died. I still worry about that happening, but not as much. I don’t stay up all night keeping watch over him anymore, I can sleep when he’s around now.   
Actually, I can only sleep when he’s around. If he’s not with me I don’t even bother attempting to fall asleep because I know it won’t happen.   
Those few seconds right before I fall asleep are also my favourite moments. Partially because my mind is empty and I’m no longer a person but rather a being, but also because I’m never scared when I fall asleep. I’ll wake up scared from nightmares, when I remember who I am and everything that’s happened. But it’s never like that when I fall asleep.   
When I’m going to bed I know I’m safe. I have my arms around Stevie or his arms around me, and I can close my eyes and relax because I’m safe. I can allow myself to be welcomed by darkness, I can let it envelop me, let it wrap me in a blanket of protection, of warmth. But sometimes the blanket will twist and knot and it turns into a rough rope that chokes me while I thrash and scream, fighting for my life in a dream - no. A nightmare. A nightmare that feels like it lasts for eternity. Then I’ll finally wake up and I’ll either remember my scars or I’ll be clueless as to what’s wrong, only knowing that something is, and I’ll end up in the bathroom, sobbing because it hurts.   
My mind.   
My heart.  
My body.   
My life.   
I’m terrified that I’ll wake up Steve one day and he’ll rush into the bathroom only to find me, a disgusting mess, muffling my groans of agony as I cry. I know that he’ll run to me, pull me into his arms, press me to his chest, to his heart, and he’ll hold me until I stop crying. I know he won’t let go even if I try to fight him. He’ll never let go until he’s sure that I know that I’m safe, that he has me and will protect me. Sometimes I wish he would wake up and do that, but I know that if he found me like that I’d have to tell him the truth.   
I’d have to admit that my scars still haunt me and that I remember all of it, and it still eats away at me and lives in my head, feeding off my fears and suffocating me almost every night. I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t tell him something that would make him cry, that would force me to look him in the eye and admit that I’m not better and there’s nothing he can do to help and that he couldn’t save me. I couldn’t watch his heart shatter into a million pieces because I’m still broken from everything Hydra did to me and had me do. I can’t admit that because I know he’ll blame himself and his mind will go back to the day that I fell from the train and he couldn’t grab my hand.  
The train.   
That’s where my nightmares start.   
I see Steve’s face fill with fear as I slip and I fall, I hear him scream my name while I’m falling. I’m falling for what seems like forever and then I hit the ground and the air is knocked out of me and it goes dark. I see the blurry faces of the doctors that found me and made me the arm when I lost my own. I relive the moment that I woke up and I grabbed the doctor's throat, his face turning bright red and almost killing him right before it goes dark again. I live through the painful moments where I’m hit, kicked, burned, screamed at, where I’m held down as they run experiments on me and wipe my mind, trying to reset it again and again and again.   
Then the worst one comes.   
I live out killing Steve.   
I have no control over my body. I’m completely powerless to control my body. My arm moves and I grab Steve by his hair then slam his skull into the floor, and I kick him until he’s coughing up blood and crying. Begging for me to stop hurting him as I drop to my knees and wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze. He hits me, scratches me, tries to kick me, he does everything he can to get me to stop choking him but it’s no use. His body starts to go limp and his eyes roll into the back of his head and he’s gone.   
He’s dead.   
But that’s not enough.   
I get up, pull out my gun and I shoot him, right between the eyes, because there’s no bringing him back with a .22 caliber bullet in his head.   
That’s when I wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> 'Bliss' might have been a tad bit ironic for the contents of this chapter but I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading and I hope and I will try and update soon :)


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